The Case of the Loveless Lothario
by Nora Burnham
Summary: Picks up at the end of my original FF, "The Case of the Burning Body."
1. Chapter 1

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if you could please move your seats back into their upright positions and fasten your seatbelts. We are approaching Los Angeles and will begin our final descent within the next ten minutes. Thank you and have a pleasant afternoon."

Della Street glanced over at the very handsome, deeply sleeping figure of Perry Mason. Exhausted, it would take weeks, perhaps months, to recover from the injuries he sustained days before during their trip to Texas. What had started out as a simple gesture of support to an old friend had ended up with both of them embroiled in a murder mystery spanning twenty years…not that such an occurrence was out of the ordinary for L.A.'s leading defense attorney and his beautiful, steadfast girl Friday, but, for the third time in a year, they had found one or both of their lives in perilous jeopardy and Della knew she needed a break. Perhaps she could convince Perry to take a long weekend fishing trip to the mountains or maybe a long, slow drive to Carmel…maybe stay in a bungalow…no phones…and, hopefully, no potential clients lurking behind every palm tree and corner.

"Perry? Perry, we're getting ready to land."

"Hmmm?" Mason sleepily grumbled.

Della softly smiled. "You need to move your seat and fasten your seatbelt."

"I heard the stewardess. I was just resting my eyes." Very gingerly, he sat up, fixed his seat, and fumbled around for his seatbelt. Della reached across his lap before he could protest and fastened the two pieces together. As she moved back into her seat, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze to which she silently mouthed, "You're welcome."

The airplane broke free from the clouds. Los Angeles stretched out below them…a city lit up by twinkling dots of light and a fiery sunset almost completely swallowed by the approaching night.

Meanwhile … thousands of miles away…

Maral sat on the end of the houseboat. She had been fiddling around with the boat's ropes …tying different sailor knots and undoing them. The moonlight was bright on the water and she soaked it in as if she had never witnessed it before. Next to her sat a stack of letters she'd been re-reading and a few newspaper clippings…all of which blew away and scattered across the boat deck when she picked up the glass of red wine which had been acting as her paperweight. She took a long sip and swallowed it slowly…feeling warmness course through her body.

Maral had always wanted to travel and live near the water. As a child, she spent hours laying on a blanket on the small front porch of the two bedroom/one bathroom home she shared with her parents…staring up at the clear blue sky…wondering what it would be like to simply fly away to some far off land…maybe meet a handsome Prince Charming who would sweep her off her feet and take her to an exciting life somewhere exotic. They could live on the beach or maybe a beautiful boat and sail around the world discovering new adventures together. Therefore, it's no wonder she found herself some thirty years later, freshly divorced, living in Tampa, Florida, on a lovely little houseboat she'd picked up for a song with part of her divorce settlement. Maybe the Prince Charming part hadn't worked

out as she planned, but the failure of her marriage hadn't killed the dream. Somewhere, deep inside her, that starry eyed little girl lived on…dreaming of the day she would find the "love of her life" and they would set sail around the world together. On clear nights, she would lay on a blanket under the night sky…waves gently rocking the boat to and fro and the little girl would come out to play and dream once again. It was on such a night that she wrote her first letter to a local magazine's "Lonely Hearts Club." She wanted someone slightly older, experienced, no children or other encumbrances…someone who, like herself, wanted the world to be his home. Within a week, she had her first response. A few long phone calls later, they agreed to meet for drinks and dinner at a local Cuban restaurant. A few hours later, they took a blanket to a secluded area of a local park where he spent several hours making love to her. Never had her husband or any man before him spent this much time pleasing her…putting aside his own pleasure…he made her climax time and time again…always stopping short of his own release…steadying his breathing…then changing positions where he would start the entire process all over again. When she finally returned to her boat in the early hours of morning, she was convinced this tan, blue eyed, handsome, crooner was the man she'd been waiting for all these years. Then, he simply disappeared…she went to his work address after being unable to reach him for several days and found the building didn't exist. She went to the home he had taken her to on numerous occasions only to discover it was a seasonal rental and the owner had no forwarding information for the handsome man who had paid his tab in cash.

Maral tossed back the rest of the wine and pitched the glass into the water. She fastened one last knot and gave it a hard tug. "That'll do," she thought sadly looking down at her bound ankles and wrists. She blinked back tears. Then, she took another long look at her house boat, her last, before plunging feet first into the deep blue water of the Marina…the heavy weights tied to her wrists and ankles pulling her farther and farther down. As she sank, she cast her eyes upward towards the wet, blurry image of the disappearing moon and slowly released the air from her lungs until the glow above was gone and there was nothing but blackness.


	2. The Case of the Loveless Lothario CHapte

If ever a person wanted to experience all four seasons in the same week, Houston, Texas, was the destination of choice. In the winter months, warm, muggy, summer temperatures, courtesy of the Gulf of Mexico, routinely clash with cold fronts pushing in from the North creating thunderstorms that sound as if the gods themselves are fighting it out in the clouds above. When the battle is over, chillingly cold nights set in only to give way in the afternoon hours to mild, inviting temperatures.

It was during the time between the chill of the night and the warmth of the afternoon that Agnes found herself driving along I-45… the destination Houston's Intercontinental Airport… an awkward, chilling silence filling the space between herself and the passenger next to her. Honestly, part of her wanted it to go by quickly while the other part wanted to hang onto him a little longer…hang onto this man whom she had only met a few times over the past three years, but whom she simply adored. He lived in California, she in Texas, but her attraction had been instantaneous. How could she let go of his quirky little smile, the gleam in his blue eyes as he looked at her from under his worn yet rugged hat? As she drove, she turned her head frequently to look out the driver's side window. She didn't want him to see the glossy tears coating her eyes and threatening to spill downs her cheeks. How she wanted this man… his Sinatra like swagger…the soft lilt of his voice when he serenaded her over the phone…but, somewhere in the innermost depths of her heart, she knew, once he stepped out and grabbed his luggage from the trunk, it would be the last time she would ever see him…the years of flirting gone. They had met through one of those lonely hearts clubs…the ones so many magazines published nowadays…lonely men and women looking for companionship or, in some cases, distractions from their current dead end relationships. They had exchanged long letters at first…then hours of long distance phone calls at all times of the day and night…during her lunch break at work…early in the morning over coffee before she set off for a busy day in the office…late nights spoken at almost a whisper so as not to disturb her neighbors on the other side of the paper thin walls of her tiny apartment. What had he said to her over breakfast that morning when she asked about seeing each other again? "I don't know, Doll. The thing is: I'm just not feeling it. Something's not clicking and when I ask myself if I could see me spending the rest of my life with you, the answer is no." Those words had stopped her cold in her tracks. She didn't know what to say, but stammered out a response. "You…you don't want to see me again?"

"No…not romantically anyways." He scooted his chair more closely towards her and looked into her moistening blue eyes. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I think you're a great person…sweet, pretty, and damned hilarious. I simply don't feel "it" whatever "it" may be."

"So, you don't want to date me or have contact with me anymore…just like that?"

"Not just like that. We haven't clicked very well all weekend."

"You felt it…this not clicking…before last night?" She asked quietly. She could feel the hot redness burning across her cheeks

"I did," he replied almost stoically.

"Then why did you sleep with me? You shouldn't have been intimate with me if that was how you felt." Her stare was cold, but the bewilderment in her voice betrayed her eyes.

"It was just part of knowing for sure, my Dear. That's all. When the sex was off and didn't feel right, I knew we could never be more than friends."

With that, he stood up and walked over to pick up his suitcases. Holding the door to the hotel room open for her, he said, "We better get going."

She looked up at him, but there was no emotion to his face.

"Come on, Doll. I don't want to miss my flight."

Meekly, she followed him out to the elevator…then the car where they rode in silence…the only sound the soft cold raindrops landing on the windows and body of her car. A million thoughts bombarded her. The encounter would become a scene she replayed hundreds of times over in her mind in the days that followed as she tried to gain the strength to recover from this latest heartbreak. Little did she know, as she said goodbye to him one last time, another hadn't been so strong and was slowly fading away into a murky grave.

The June gloom had not hung around for long. The sun's rays peaked from behind the clouds giving the hint of what promised to be another beautiful San Diego day. His morning jog had been quite exhilarating. As he rounded the last corner on his way home, he looked forward to the long, hot shower which awaited him. Once that was complete, he would grab a cup of coffee and place a long distance call to the most captivating woman he had ever met. With twenty-five years in the Marine Corps and all the places he had travelled and lived, he had never met anyone like her. She claimed he swept her off her feet with his charm, intellect, "cat who ate the canary" smile, and gorgeous blue eyes. In truth, it was she who had swept him off his feet. She was much younger…eighteen years to be exact…but wise beyond her years, blonde hair and equally gorgeous blue eyes, tall and perfectly tanned, his attraction had been instantaneous. She was smart, had a good job, very independent, beautiful, and freshly broken up with her most recent boyfriend…a lovely peach ripe for the picking and he had yearned for her every day since their first meeting. Indeed, she was an angel sent from heaven. When she first responded to his "Lonely Hearts Club" ad, he didn't think she was a real person, but, instead, a fictitious character created by his crazy, vindictive ex-wife in some ploy to continue making his life a living hell. However, one phone call assuaged his fears and they agreed to meet for drinks at the Omni Hotel several weeks later. His anticipation for this first meeting had been delicious. He felt almost like a teenager again. White roses were her favorite…she had mentioned that once in one of their

hours long phone conversations. Naturally, he'd bought a dozen on his way to the hotel bar that night. When the doorman opened the glass doors and she cascaded into the lobby, his heart skipped a beat and he met her half way across the floor. She hugged him and placed a soft kiss on his lips when he handed her the roses. Two bottles of wine later, they stepped onto an elevator and made their way to his room. The door barely closed when roses were dropped to the floor and his mouth engulfed hers. His hands covered her body. She later claimed it felt as if he was touching her in every erotically sensitive part of her body at the same time… and she felt no choice but to give into him over and over again through the wee hours of the morning. That was almost a year ago. He walked up the drive way to his house…hands resting on his hips…a slow walk to help bring down his heart rate and breathing. Yes, she was an exquisite woman and having his sexual needs continually satisfied by her these many months would not be easily forgotten. Still…it had to be done. She was hinting at marriage and asking to meet his two grown daughters. She also wanted to travel down to his home in San Diego and spend time with him there. If that happened, she would learn many other facts to his life which he had managed to keep hidden such as the fact he was married and not divorced as he had written in his "Lonely Hearts" ad. More precisely, he was married to his fourth wife. He would end things today. He stood to lose too much if he decided to leave this particular wife for her. Denise would ask for an immediate divorce if she ever found out about any of his many cross country dalliances and, after 12 years of marriage, she would take the house and part of his military pension and half his publishing business. He wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at his wife's car still in the driveway. She would leave for work soon…after setting out a fresh cup of coffee for him on the kitchen counter. Then, he would make the call.


	3. Chapter 3

She sat at her desk. It was Monday and she always arrived early to work on those days so she and Andy could share their morning coffee together. She wondered what they would talk about today. Politics? His views on why military men, such as Eisenhower, made the best Presidents were interesting and also made her laugh. She was no "Dumb Dora" after all despite what others in the building may have thought of her. She had gone to secretarial school and held an Associate's degree, but job opportunities for a woman like herself were few unless she pursued law, medicine, or teaching. The law was fun and exciting, but not really what she wanted for the rest of her life. Sick people annoyed her and teaching all day sounded tiring. She wanted romance and adventure…not the life of a spinsterly school teacher or Florence Nightengale. She loved hearing his stories of living in Australia and Africa…of his travels throughout Europe. His dream was for his publishing business to take off nationally so that he could retire to a little boat and sail all over the world. He said she could go with him…claimed all she needed to pack was a bikini and a smile. There was no one like him and he had swept her off her feet with his dark Italian skin and bright blue eyes.

She smiled at the thought of touching his tanned, muscular skin for the first time. "Mmmmmnnn…" she mumbled as she stirred her coffee. Maybe they would discuss religion again. They'd had some heated discussions on that topic. He believed that, while it was possible there was a higher power somewhere in the universe, no one could prove it to him. God had never once shown himself to him and, until such time, he would go on believing in the emptiness and darkness of death…that man simply goes back into the earth. This was a staunch contrast to how she'd been raised in a small, country church. Every week, Pastor Thompson paced back and forth before the congregation. He held up the bible and slammed it down on the pulpit to awaken sleepy parishioners. "Have you been washed in the blood of Jesus? Have your sins been washed away with the blood of the lamb? Will you walk those streets of gold one day with me as we meet our heavenly Father and claim our mansion in the sky? The pathway to heaven is narrow my friends and the pathway to hell wide. Give your heart to Jesus." She had attended those services since the age of eight. She knew every sermon by heart…every hymn. To this day, if she closed her eyes, she could hear her grandmother's best friend, Maggie, leading the choir and congregation in, "Place Your Hands in the Blood Stained Hands." What would they think of her if they could see her now? What would her grandmother, Maggie or Pastor Thompson say if they could see the path she had wandered down as a young, adult woman so many miles from home?

The ringing of her phone jarred her back to the present. "Hello. Perry Mason's Office."

"Hi Beautiful," he answered. "How's your day?"

"Good so far. Just sitting here daydreaming about you, Handsome. Now that we got word a few days ago that Mr. Mason's recovered enough to come home, all the excitement and gossip in the building has died down. Can you believe he's already back in court and he has only been home 72 hours? There's just no stopping that man. Have you decided what you wanna do this weekend?"

"Well …about that, Baby. You know how I think best on my morning runs?"

"Yes," Gertie cooed.

"We need to talk about us …."


	4. Chapter 4

Della Street yawned for what must have been the tenth time as she sat next to her boss, L.A.'s most famous attorney, Perry Mason, during the morning's court proceedings. Quietly, he jotted down a note and pushed it her way.

'You should try to get more rest at night.'

Without any change in her expression, she jotted down a reply and gently pushed the paper back to him.

'So should you.'

Puzzled, he glanced at her and jotted down a question mark on the paper.

With a slight raise of her eyebrow, she took the paper, wrote an answer, and passed it back to him.

'Look at your cuff links.'

Glancing down at his wrists, Perry noticed he wore a white gold cuff link on one wrist and a yellow gold one on the other. Without any change in expression, he scribbled, "Touche."

The remainder of the proceedings that morning were rather mundane. With most of the testimony presented via depositions, minutes passed by more like hours. Finally, the judge adjourned the courtroom for the day and placed the rest of the work placed in the hands of the jury. Slowly, Perry Mason and Della Street made their way through the hustle and bustle of the Los Angeles County Courthouse.

"It's only 3:30," Mason noted as he looked up at a large clock in the courthouse's main foyer. "I know we worked straight through lunch, Della, but I'm afraid I'm not terribly hungry."

"It's a side effect of the medicine," she replied. She smiled and nodded a, 'thank you' in the direction of the security guard who opened the door for she and Mason. "We could go back to the office and have something delivered from downstairs? I'm starved so I can eat for both of us."

"Or we could skip the office altogether," he murmured…gently taking her left elbow and leading the way down the courthouse steps.

"I love the sound of that…and you do need your rest. We can go back to your place and I'll make a nice lunch for both of us."

"Rest?" Mason chuckled, "Who said anything about rest, Miss Street?"

They arrived at his black convertible sedan. Mason held open the door. Della slid easily across the seat. Leaning in, he placed his briefcase on the floorboard then ran his hand slowly up her calf to her knee. With a gentle squeeze, he kissed her forehead and whispered, "I'll rest later…much

later."

As he shut the door and made his way around the car to the driver's door, Della felt her skin flush red and hot with anticipation.

She sat in a lawn chair, alone, outside her apartment complex pool. Her outline hidden in the darkness…her tears of dismay having subsided to those of anger and resentment. The night time breeze swayed the tree branches, allowing light from a nearby security pole in the parking lot to cast brief, fleeting sprays on her figure. Occasionally, the headlights from an incoming car would hit her face and she'd quickly turn away…afraid to be seen…embarrassed by her appearance…the disheveled blonde updo…the smeared eyeliner and faint black streaks of ruined mascara that she'd wiped away with her fingers. 'How could he have ended things just like that?' She asked herself for the thousandth time. She stood up and began pacing back and forth along the side of the pool.

"Are you the lady who called for help?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned to see that the shadowy figure of a tall man had stepped out from behind a hedge.

"Yes," she replied softly. Clearing her throat, she walked towards him. "Yes," she said more firmly this time. "I'm the one who called earlier today." She extended her hand and the man walked a few steps closer. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. Taking her hand, he replied, "The name's Jeeves…Mack Jeeves."

"Gertrude …I mean, Gertie, Gertie Lade, " she answered.

"Hey…wait a second," he said upon taking a closer look at her. "I've seen you around. You work for Mason, right?"

"Yes, I do, " she replied calmly. "And you work for Mr. Drake. I figured you'd recognize me but I don't know where else to turn. You won't say anything to him, will you? I mean…about me calling you, who I am and what I want you to do? Any reports you make should be anonymous. I will pay in cash."

"Look, Miss Lade…we don't really operate all cloak and dagger like that, you know? Did his secretary know who you was when you called? This ain't nothing that's gonna cause trouble for Mason, is it?"

"Oh no…nothing like that and, no, I was very vague when I called and asked if someone could meet me here for a possible job. No, my problem…well… it's personal…only having to do with me. It's just…well…I've done something stupid…acted completely foolishly…and I don't want anyone to know. That's all. I promise." Gertie held up her fingers in Scout's Honor and softly smiled. "Please …."

Jeeves looked at her rather skeptically,at first, but his gut told him she was on the up and up. "Okay…okay, Miss Lade. Why don't you tell me what you've done and we'll see what I can do to help you fix it."

"I want you to investigate a man for me…a boyfriend…ex-boyfriend. His name is Andy Buffalo…or, at least, that's what he told me." Gertie went on to explain how she'd been lulled into the romance and intrigue of a local rag's personal ads. She explained how this man had wooed her, seduced her, then given her a lame break up story.

"I'm not the woman scorned, Mr. Jeeves. I just feel like there's more to it than he's been letting on and I want to get to the bottom of it no matter how sordid or painful the details may be." Gertie sat…watching Jeeves jot down notes…her earnest eyes as big as saucers.

Meeting her gaze, he said "I'll be in touch" then disappeared through the hedges and back into the darkness.


End file.
